


Significant Others

by the_tenth_muse1



Series: You Can't Pick Your Family [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Humor, M/M, Shmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_tenth_muse1/pseuds/the_tenth_muse1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Dinner at the Holmes Estate because Mummy wants to meet everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Significant Others

It was an odd thing, to actually be in England during the holidays. Normally, James would be on the other side of the world chasing down criminals, but not this year. Really, he barely even noticed the change in seasons except for whatever he needed for his mission; i.e., insulated or not. For the first time in a very long time, someone wanted him to be around for Christmas.

“Not that we celebrate Christmas, per se,” Q had said hurriedly as he'd tried to give James all his reasons at once. “But we have such disparate lives and hardly ever see one another unless some sort of world crises is involved. Mummy hardly ever asks for anything but this year, since we've all got significant others, she wanted everyone home for Christmas Eve and Day. I _completely_ understand if you don't...”

James had stopped the rush of words with a kiss and a grope to the backside that had provoked a delightful yelp from his young lover. He'd said, “Of course we'll go. I've already met and had dinner with Sherlock, how bad could it be?”

Q had gulped and said earnestly, “You have no idea.”

And now, staring up at the three-story, stone mansion in which Q had grown up, James was beginning to think he really didn't. The estate was probably hundreds of acres around and had _tenants_ like some old-fashioned Lord of the Manor. They'd passed a stables and a detached garage nearby that probably housed about ten cars and twenty horses. And it wasn't as though he didn't deal with the wealthy on a regular basis, but this felt different because it was Q's family.

“What did you say your parents did again?” James finally asked.

Q didn't leave the Aston, either. “Officially? My father retired from a minor government position about four years ago. Mummy... dabbles.”

James huffed out an amused breath and said, “Right, then. Shall we?”

“Once more into the breach,” Q muttered, before opening the door and getting out.

James chuckled and did the same, though he went to take their travel case out of the trunk to carry up. December was brutally cold this year as if to make up for all the other years he hadn't been present. Temperatures had remained firmly around zero for the last week and a half, causing all manner of problems in London. Even in the country, the air had a dangerous bite to it and James frowned when Q coughed on the walk to the mansion.

Q held up a finger before James could even ask and then took James' hand and said firmly, “I'm fine. Freezing, but fine.”

The door opened and a middle aged man with silver hair and dressed in a dark suit greeted, “Master Quinlan, how good to have you home again.”

Q smiled broadly and said, “Jeffrey! You look in excellent health. How is Beth?”

“Doing very well, Sir, thank you for asking. And you, Mr. Bond? I trust you are well?”

The expectant look from the man, Jeffrey, prompted James to answer, “Fine, thank you.”

Jeffrey smiled and said to Q, “Your parents are in the east dining room, Sir. You've just arrived in time for tea.”

“And my brothers?”

Jeffrey's smile thinned a bit. “Master Mycroft won't be arriving until later this evening. As for Sherlock... I believe Dr. Watson managed to tear him away from the wreckage of the north study and out onto the grounds for some fresh air.”

Q sighed and said, “Thank you, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey gave a small bow and said, “May I take that for you, Mr. Bond?”

James had forgotten he was carrying their case and handed it over without a problem. He had a feeling that the security on this estate might be better than Buckingham Palace. “Please, call me James.”

Jeffrey beamed at him and said, “Very good, Sir. Enjoy your stay.”

James caught Q's gaze and asked, “When he said 'wreckage...?'”

Q half-grinned at him. “I've learned it's best not to ask, where Sherlock's experiments are concerned. And as long as there's no biohazard involved, my parents don't particularly care. Though there was that one time that Mummy made him pay to replace the entire rose garden. That was good for a laugh.”

“I'm sure,” James murmured, following where Q led.

The inside of the mansion was steeped in history and far more formal than its outer stone façade, though that hardly seemed possible. The art looked to be all originals, the vases seemed as old as the mansion, and the Persian rugs were, well, Persian, most likely and a good hundred years old from how they hung on the walls instead of covering the floor. They walked down the large hall and went by several rooms before Q tugged him into a smaller dining room. It was practically cozy in comparison to the rest of the house with a table made only for eight and 'everyday' china in use.

Q's parents were far older than James had expected. His father looked close to seventy with snowy white hair and a thinness that bordered on gaunt, but a ramrod straight posture that spoke of an iron will. He had sharp blue eyes that said he could probably hold an interrogation today and get whatever information he wanted. Q's mother looked to be the same age, no surprise, and while she held the softer curves of womanhood, she also had Sherlock's intense and odd-coloured gaze and would also likely be a formidable opponent.

Mrs. Holmes smiled broadly when Q entered the room and held out her arms. “Quinlan, darling, you've arrived at last!”

Q bent to hug her for a long moment and then kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mummy. It's so good to be home. Hello, Father.”

James watched as Q quickly walked around and received a hug from his father as well as a kiss on the cheek, which surprised him for some reason. Then again, when one got to that age, it was likely one knew what was important and appearances weren't it.

“Quinlan, lad, it's about time. Do help out poor John and keep Sherlock occupied, will you?” Mr. Holmes entreated.

Q smiled and said, “Of course I shall, Father. But before that... this is James Bond.”

It suddenly occurred to James that he hadn't 'met the parents' of someone he loved in a few decades. It surprised him how much he wanted this to go well. He gently clasped Mrs. Holmes' hand and kissed the back of it. “Lady Holmes, it's a pleasure.”

Unlike her middle son, Mrs. Holmes seemed to have no problem expressing amusement with those changeable eyes and a warm chuckle. “I can see why my son is so taken with you. And do call me Cecilia, Mr. Bond.”

“It's James, please,” James said firmly. He walked around the table to shake hands with Q's father and said, “And it's an honor to meet you, Sir.”

Mr. Holmes wasn't nearly as easy-going. He made a suspicious noise, blue eyes narrowed considerably as they looked at James, and said, “Quite.”

Q retrieved James by lacing their fingers together as he asked, “Our packages arrived yesterday?”

Mrs. Holmes nodded. “They did, darling. Everything's in your room. Why don't the two of you take some time to rest before searching out Sherlock?”

Q nodded and gave her another kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mummy.”

James didn't resist when Q tugged him out of the room, suddenly grateful to be out from under Mr. Holmes' gaze. Now he knew why Q had warned him to decline if his father offered a game of cards or chess.

It wasn't until they were one story up and half the mansion away inside their room that James said dryly, “Now I know what you meant.”

Q laughed softly and said, “Yes, well. I did try to warn you. Mycroft is just like father, only not quite as stiff and forbidding.”

James was fairly certain he would be thankful for that when they finally met. A quick look around the room showed it didn't look like any boy's room he'd ever been in; there were no posters or trophies, just books lining three of the four walls. The furniture was heavy and old, but gleamed with care and looked to have been in place for at least a century.

“And for all of Sherlock's snottiness, he's just like Mummy.”

James laughed and tugged him into a hug, smiling into his lover's eyes. “Snottiness? Is that the technical term?”

“You have met Sherlock, haven't you?” Q deadpanned.

James kissed him, hungry for more but settling for the short, sweetness to tide him over. “Why don't we take a nap?”

Q's eyebrows lifted. “Mummy wasn't really serious, you know.”

James pushed him towards the massive bed and said, “But I am. We've both had a long week and I know for a fact you didn't finish before two this morning.”

Q scowled. “Who told?”

“I have my ways.”

“Mmm. I'll be sure and suss them out when we return.”

He let James play valet, though, untying his shoes and slipping them off, then pulling off the latest sweater-vest and tossing it aside. James lightly massaged Q's scalp until the younger man moaned in pleasure. “Your hands really ought to be registered as lethal weapons.”

“You mean they're not?” James teased.

Q chuckled and stretched out when James urged him to do so with a gentle push. James toed off his own shoes and climbed onto the bed with him, curling up behind him and nuzzling at his neck as Q took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. They shifted a bit until comfortable and then, as he'd expected once he managed to get Q lying down, the younger man dropped off almost immediately.

James smiled and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep, but it was a nice afternoon to drift.

* * * *

A couple of hours later, a soft knock at the door brought James instantly to attention from a light doze. He carefully extricated himself and lightly climbed over Q without dislodging him. He strode across the room and opened the door to find John on the other side. James stepped outside and closed the door. “Q is sleeping.”

John paused and then asked, “You call him by his initial?”

James shrugged. “Nickname. Did you need something?”

“No, just giving you a heads-up that Mycroft is here so dinner won't be long,” John replied. “Have you met him yet?”

James shook his head.

“Ah. Well... He's a bit like Adrian, only worse.”

“Adrian?”

“Their father.”

James wondered how long John had been able to call Mr. Holmes by his given name. He was also going to throttle Q for letting him think Mycroft would be easier to deal with than his father. “I see.”

John clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Buck up. It's only two days. You'll live. Worst comes to worst, the three of us can hide somewhere they'd never think to look for us.”

“Three?”

“Mycroft's girlfriend, Melinda. Sherlock said that it's her first time meeting the parents as well.”

“Ah. And where would we hide?”

“The laundry room, assuming there is one around here somewhere. I seriously doubt any of them have set foot there, ever.”

James chuckled and said, “Good plan. Hopefully we won't need it.”

“See you downstairs,” John said cheerfully. “I should get back to mine before World War Three starts between he and Mycroft. Threats only go so far, you know.”

James shook his head, bemused, and then stepped back into the bedroom. He saw Q was up and yawning, scrubbing fingers through his hair and looking far too young. Really, the Holmes' collective overprotective urges towards Q were entirely understandable.

_Not that that makes it any easier to deal with,_ James thought walking over to the bed. “Sleep well?”

Q nodded and put his glasses back on, then leaned his forehead to James' chest. “Can we skip dinner and go back to bed?”

“I don't know, can we?”

“... No.”

James smiled and said, “Go splash some water on your face. Mycroft and his girlfriend arrived and dinner is almost upon us.”

Q's eyes widened and he exclaimed, “My God, he actually brought her?”

James quirked an eyebrow at him. “You didn't think he would?”

“Heavens no! I didn't realize they were that serious,” Q replied, grinning broadly as he stood. “Oh, Mummy is going to have a field day! I wonder if the woman knows she's supposed to procreate as soon as possible? Mummy would even take a grandchild out of wedlock by now, I'm sure.”

James laughed and swatted him on the backside. “Don't be mean.”

Q dimpled up at him and said, “Come on. No need to splash water on my face anymore, I'm completely awake.”

Smiling fondly, James took Q's hand in his and they headed downstairs. They were in a formal living room a few minutes later and James took a breath before entering, mentally girding his loins.

Q flashed him a grin, probably well aware what he'd been thinking. “Hello, everyone. I trust we haven't missed anything?”

Sherlock and John occupied an embroidered loveseat set in the back of the room, probably just watching everything. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stood a few feet away facing a man and woman. The man was as tall as every other Holmes and had reddish, thinning hair falling back from a widow's peak, a stiff posture, and wore an elegant suit. The woman was slender and roughly five foot four and so only came to about the middle of the man's shoulder. Her jet black hair drifted below her shoulders and her dress was black, fitted, and conservative.

James nearly choked on his own breath in surprise when everyone turned to look at them and he saw that it was _Melinda May_. He ruthlessly surprised the urge to laugh loud and long as he thought, _The Holmes men certainly have a type._

May's eyebrows lifted with her own apparent surprise on seeing James and then she smiled and walked towards him. James immediately dropped a foot back into a subtle defensive stance, though he wasn't so uncouth as to bring his fists up.

May smirked a bit and said, “Good to see you again, Bond. It's been a while.”

“It has,” James agreed, wary. “How have you been?”

Her dark eyes held vast amusement as she replied, “Busy. You? How's the import/export business?”

Q stepped forward and said, “Hello. Quinlan Holmes. And you are?”

May glanced at him and said, “Above your security clearance. Nice to meet you. You're the youngest, right?”

Q opened his mouth and James clamped down on his shoulder in warning. Q frowned at him, but subsided.

Mycroft joined them and held a hand out to James. “Good evening, Mr. Bond. It's an honor to finally meet you.”

Anyone who caught Melinda May as a long-term prospect deserved both respect and vigilance. James smiled politely. He and Q were definitely going to have words later about prioritizing just who the dangerous family members were. James shook his hand and found the grip neither too firm, nor too soft; like the man before him, it was utterly unremarkable. “And you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, please. Call me Mycroft. Anyone who puts my youngest brother's life in danger on a regular schedule should be on a first name basis with the family,” Mycroft said pleasantly.

James wondered if it was too late to find the laundry room.

Q scowled outright and said, “Mycroft, you promised.”

Mycroft sniffed and replied, “Yes, yes, very well. Melinda, darling, would you care for a drink?”

May nodded with a faint smile. “Whiskey, neat. Thanks, Mycroft.”

He smiled back at her, the expression startling in its sincerity, and didn't ask James if he wanted anything before walking to the sideboard.

James was perfectly fine with that. He looked back at Melinda and said, “I didn't realize you were local right now.”

“I'm not. Mycroft was so enthusiastic about a family Christmas that I got the time off,” she said as they walked towards the parents. “They owed me, anyhow.”

Mycroft being enthusiastic about anything seemed a big stretch, but he wasn't man enough to call Melinda May a liar. He didn’t think anyone was man enough for that. He also didn't bother asking after 'them.' They'd tried to recruit him about a decade ago and he'd turned them down flat. Even knowing they existed left him squirming a bit deep down; he much preferred terrestrial threats, even nuclear ones.

Q seemed to sense his disquiet and slipped an arm around his waist. They reached Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and Q said, “Evening, Mummy. Father. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Mrs. Holmes smiled and said, “Nonsense, darling, you must have needed the sleep. Your father and I were just getting to know Melinda. I didn't realize the two of you knew one another, James? How did you meet?”

James didn't even look at Melinda as he replied, “Business trip some time ago. We didn't really keep in touch.”

Mr. Holmes said, “Funny coincidence the two of you meeting on business and then ending up with a Holmes each.”

The disapproval and suspicion was thick enough for James to stiffen with offense. It was Q's turn to give him a warning squeeze and he gritted his teeth, offering a polite smile to the eldest Holmes instead.

May said easily, “Not such a big coincidence really, since we're in the same field. Well, tangentially. I think you'll find the world a much smaller place now than when you were working, sir.”

James didn't react, but internally he couldn't help a gleeful chuckle at the age dig.

Mr. Holmes blinked at May for a moment and then said, gaze narrowed, “Quite.”

Mycroft hurried back and said, “Here you are, Melinda. Father, I heard from Mr. Randolph the other day. He sends his regards.”

The subject change didn’t take. Mrs. Holmes gifted May with a condescending smile as she nodded towards the tumbler in the younger woman's hand. “I always thought Americans drank rum.”

Melinda didn't miss a beat. “Only college kids and pirates, ma'am.”

_She's actually going to 'sir' them to death,_ James thought with complete approval, unable to repress the almost unholy merriment. Dinner was _not_ going to be dull.

Q leaned in and murmured against his ear, “We are going to have a long chat about Ms. May later, Bond.”

Jeffrey stepped into the room before Mrs. Holmes or James could reply to their respective conversations. “Dinner is ready.”

James allowed Q to lead him down the hall to the formal dining room. It was easily twice the size as the one from the afternoon and so formal as to be kin to Buckingham Palace. It wasn't the first time he'd thought of that location and he wondered suddenly just how far down the line of succession the Holmes family stood. The table could probably extend to seat twenty, but for the moment was set comfortably for eight.

Small name tags dotted the gold circled china and James cursed silently upon finding Mycroft on his left. At least John was on his right. Q sat across from him with Sherlock to his right and May to his left. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes each took an end of the table.

James sat and looked to John as he asked, “Having fun?”

John grinned and said, “The show's been great, thanks. And to think I almost let Sherlock talk me out of coming. So, how do you know Melinda?”

James repeated firmly, “Business.”

“Ah. Real business or fake business?” John questioned, blue eyes sparkling with humor. “It's so hard to tell some days.”

“Yes, James. Tell us how you and Melinda met,” Mycroft said from his other side.

James looked over at Mycroft and said, “Her company tried to recruit me. I declined.”

Mycroft stared at him for a long moment and then glanced at May as he murmured, “I see.”

The first course was an exquisite seafood bouillabaisse. James didn't know who the chef was, but he was tempted to propose based off the one course. It wasn't just armies that ran on their stomachs after all; agents had been known to knife one another for the last breadstick in the commissary. It was rarely fatal, but still. Q caught his eye and grinned, maybe thinking the same thing.

“Mummy. How long has Jessica been with the family again?” Q asked innocently.

Mrs. Holmes looked at her youngest and said, “Oh, a good fifteen years now. Why?”

Q smirked at bit at James. “No reason.”

James narrowed his eyes at his lover, but only said, “The bouillabaisse is delicious, Cecilia. My compliments.”

Mrs. Holmes smiled brightly. “Why thank you, James.”

Melinda made a kiss-up face at him, but it was so swift, James was sure no one but himself noticed. Or so he thought until he spotted Q's barely repressed grin and John coughed suspiciously into his hand. He smiled blandly at her. “How long are you in England for this time, May?”

Mrs. Holmes straightened immediately. “You don't live here, Melinda?”

Melinda looked back at Mrs. Holmes and said, “No, unfortunately not at this time. I travel quite a bit for work.”

“So you and Mycroft don't see one another very much then.” Mrs. Holmes' words were thoughtful, as if planning their breakup.

James was glad looks couldn't kill and maintained an innocent facade; May didn't need to look at him for him to know that she wanted to kill him. He was a Double-Oh. He could certainly hold his own against a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, at least when it came to kissing parental arse. Honestly, he was probably in better standing just based on the fact that Melinda was American.

Melinda's smile had thinned, but she said, “Not as much as we'd like, certainly. I'm currently... training a new team. Once they settle into a groove, I'm sure my schedule will relax a little.”

_Assuming no alien invasions,_ James thought dryly.

Jeffrey and two maids in uniform returned to clear the plates, fill wine glasses, and bring out the main course, which was stuffed quail on a bed of baby asparagus and herbed, baby potatoes. Each plate was laid out perfectly and looked like a work of art to James. He almost hated to cut into the food, but the taste was even more exquisite than it looked.

Mycroft said abruptly, “It's not as though my schedule allows for much leisure, either, Mummy.”

It was Mr. Holmes who said, “Of course not, son. Not in your position.”

James almost felt bad for the fatherly 'support' that negated May's career choice. Steeling himself, he asked Mycroft, “How did you and May meet?”

If Mycroft was surprised by the assist, he didn't show it. He merely smiled at May and said, “Melinda was in London on business and we... bumped into one another at St. Michael's. She certainly stood out amongst all the tourists. She was easily the loveliest woman there.”

May didn't do anything overtly sentimental like gush or melt, but James was a bit surprised to see her soften in a way he never would have expected. Chances were better than good that the 'bumped into' involved some sort of classified op, but the emotions between them certainly seemed genuine.

“And Mycroft knew more than all the tour guides put together,” May said, gaze locked with Mycroft's. “He's the smartest man I know and believe me, that's saying something.”

Since she probably knew Tony Stark, yes, that was saying something. Then again, Q was no slouch in the intelligence department either. James glanced at Q to find him frowning at his eldest brother. Surprised, James nudged his foot against Q's knee, prompted Q to look at him. James' eyebrows lifted askance and Q flushed and looked away. It looked like their conversation topics were ever-expanding.

Sherlock made a rude noise and opened his mouth – likely to comment on Mycroft’s intelligence, and/or possibly May’s perception of it – only to close it again quickly. James glanced at John and, sure enough, found a sternly expectant look on the doctor’s face. James hid a grin and took another bite of his food unable to help an appreciative noise at the burst of flavor.

“Don't get out much, Bond?” May deadpanned.

James smirked a bit. “Try it.”

May cut off a small slice of the quail and ate it slowly. “This is really good.”

Everyone ate quietly for the rest of the meal, conversation limited to neutral topics. Jeffrey and the maids returned to clear out the plates, replacing them with bowls of bread pudding and refilling the wine glasses.

Mr. Holmes asked, “And when will you be retiring, James?”

James' spoon scraped across his plate with a horrific noise, his shock was so great at the rude question.

Absolute silence reigned from the rest of the dinner table.

“It's just that spying is a young man's game,” Mr. Holmes continued genially, “and I understand you were quite severely injured just last year. We didn't hear about it until after the fact, naturally, since you and Quinlan weren't involved at the time.”

James met Q's horrified gaze across the table. The younger man seemed frozen, unable to figure out how to protest. A quick glance around the table showed various reactions from intensely fascinated – Sherlock – to mildly curious – Mycroft – and everything in between. Melinda actually winced, but kept her head down, which James had to admit was smart.

He couldn't exactly say, “I'll retire feet first,” anymore, because it wasn't true. Not with Q to come home to now. On the other hand, he hadn't sat Q down to discuss future plans because that was something to be decided in private.

Finally, James said honestly, “I've no idea, sir. No immediate plans. My shoulder is well-healed. I haven't had any trouble from it in months now, but thank you for the belated concern.”

Mr. Holmes made a neutral noise and returned to his bread pudding.

Thankfully, the rest of dessert was much less fraught. John immediately began regaling them with amusing stories about the A&E at which he sometimes worked and the tension slowly seeped away. James made a note to thank him at some point for taking on the focus. The time gave him a chance to regain his composure. It wasn't often that he found himself so blindsided, not professionally or personally.

_This is what happens when you let someone in,_ James thought, watching Q chuckling at John's story. _You become vulnerable to attack, whether from family or enemies. God forbid they turn out to be the same person._

And yet, even if Q's father hated him until the end of days, James knew he wouldn't give the younger man up. The only one who could drive James away was Q himself and, knowing himself as he did, even that was debatable.

Dessert ended at last and everyone stood to go to their respective bedrooms.

For the first time all evening, Sherlock spoke. “This dinner was surprisingly not boring.”

James grinned at bit at Q’s snort and John’s eye roll as the shorter man took Sherlock’s hand and led him away, speaking quietly. All things considered, Sherlock could have been much ruder. James was surprised, and wary, when Mr. Holmes approached him in the hall. “Good night, sir.”

Mr. Holmes held out his hand and said, “It's Adrian, son. Sleep well.”

James immediately took his hand and they shook on the good wishes. “Thank you, sir. And you.”

It wouldn't hurt to keep up the 'sir' for the near future. Just in case.

Q took James' other hand and said, “Good night, Father.”

Adrian smiled and ruffled Q's hair. “Night, sprat.”

James grinned and, as soon as they were out of earshot, echoed, “Sprat?”

“Don't even think about it or tonight will seem like a blissful dream, Double-Oh-Seven,” Q retorted quietly. Then he stole a quick kiss and said, softer, “You did so well, James.”

James squeezed his hand and said, “At least I don't have to worry about the baby inquisition, unlike May.”

Q snorted. “I wouldn't bet the house on that just yet. There's always surrogacy.”

James blinked in surprise and then laughed as they walked down the hall. He released Q's hand only to throw an arm over his lover's shoulder and draw him in close. “Well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when your parents spring it on us in the future.”

Q chuckled and said, “Good plan.”

There was still Christmas Day to get through, but James was suddenly feeling a lot better about the future. He'd never anticipated having another family and it felt... good. He would take the ambushes and snide remarks and teasing over being alone any day of the year. Most of all, he would take Q regardless of how easy or stressful his family turned out to be. Q was his real family and James would hold onto him for as long as he could.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt to find out what kind of liquor and/or cigars Mr. Holmes liked best.

Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally do alt pov fics, but May's demanding her own explanations so that should be up shortly, too. I've also messed about with the timelines, because Skyfall has happened, but Sherlock hasn't Fallen yet. Lastly, there's no May/Ward like ever in my world.


End file.
